madness
by tysunkete
Summary: Part seven: absolution sequel. ("I need to take medicine," Miyuki groans. "Let me move." "I'll take it." "Furuya, really, it's—" "Senpai," Furuya speaks over him, tone flat. "Will you just," the other swallows and stares at him seriously. "Stay here?") Sickfic. Furumiyu.


_Title:_ madness  
 _Fandom:_ Daiya no Ace  
 _Character/Pairing:_ Miyuki/Furuya  
 _Summary:_

"I need to take medicine," Miyuki groans. "Let me move."

"I'll take it."

"Furuya, really, it's—"

"Senpai," Furuya speaks over him, tone flat. "Will you just," the other swallows and stares at him seriously. "Stay here?"

 _Notes:_ Subdued tones. Eh…I don't really know why I wrote this, but…here it is.

* * *

 _-come to me, in just a dream-_

* * *

Miyuki has never done well with the cold. It's not really that surprising that on the last week of January when the snow is at its thickest—though in Tokyo, "heavy" snow isn't exactly comparable to other parts of Japan—he wakes up feeling dizzy and much too stuffy. The curtains are drawn and he winces when he pulls off his eye mask, groping for his phone. The time tells him he's slept well into the afternoon, sky outside already starting to dim. He panics for a short second before he realises weekend practice has been cancelled in light of the snow they have yet to clear from the field. Just as well, because now that he's been awake for a few minutes, his body feels _terrible_.

His throat is dry and scratchy, and it feels too hot and too cold at the same time under his covers. His breathing feels clogged and there is this low lying headache sitting at the back of his head, like it's ready to pounce forth any second.

Miyuki groans, knowing full well that he's _sick_. What a horrible time to fall sick—then again, there is never a good time to fall sick—he's ill in the dead of _winter_. He has medicine somewhere in his drawer, but food is going to be a problem. The nearest convenience store is still going to be a fair amount of suffering in the cold, provided if he can even manage to drag himself out of bed.

He pushes off the covers, intending to get up, but the air in his room is so _cold_ and he huddles underneath it again almost immediately. But if he doesn't get up there won't be any food and he can't take any medicine, so after a minute more he forces himself to get up, placing his feet down on the floor.

His head swoons at the movement, headache throbbing a little heavier. There's nothing he can do about it but force his eyes open, grabs his glasses and pushing himself off the bed. He feels a little like throwing up, but he ignores that he best he can as he searches for a jacket in his closest, pulling the thickest hoodie he has over his head before shuffling towards the common toilets to brush his teeth.

The walk down the hallway has never been longer, with the dry wintery wind blowing down his neck. By the time he gets to the sinks, his nose has started to drip, and he takes a bit of time washing his face with hot water—he thinks it's hot, but honestly his body temperature feels too whacked for him to be really sure. It feels a little bit better for a couple of seconds, and then when he steps out to get back to his room, his nose clogs again and the headache throbs harder—by the time he's walked down the corridor, he really wants to go underneath the covers again.

Heaving a sigh, Miyuki gropes around for his medicine box and finds the thermometer, sticking it under his tongue. It beeps barely a minute later. He lets it clatter to the table with a groan.

39.6 degrees.

No wonder he feels so horrible. He waits a bit for the dizziness to even out a little before he searches for more presentable pants, a scarf and a mouth mask. He _really_ doesn't want to go outside but there's no choice, and the longer he procrastinates the less likely he'll ever get out of his room—so he grits his teeth and braces for the cold.

The sky and ground are equally grey and it blinds him when he trudges past the school gate. It has to be one of the coldest days of the year. He huddles his face as much as he can into his scarf, mentally counting the number of steps he's taken in order to keep his mind straight. The moment he steps into the store feels like a godsend, only, a few seconds later the abrupt change in temperature causes his headache to bloom.

He breathes slowly, rubbing his temples as he drags his feet towards one of the aisles, but he's a little too out of it to see where he's really going until someone catches him by the elbow before he crashes straight into a stack of cereal boxes.

"…Miyuki-senpai," Furuya blinks, eyes casting over him in confusion, and Miyuki blinks back when the drink bottles that Furuya was carrying in his arm all drop to the floor a second later.

"Ah," Miyuki says, feeling a little too detached to laugh as Furuya squats and tries to take those bottles in his arms again. "You should use a basket."

A store employee comes over with the said basket and smiles off the apologies that Furuya mumbles as he puts the bottles in the basket. Miyuki bends down to help, but the sudden movement causes him to black out for a split second and this time nausea hits his gut.

Furuya pauses, hand gently reaching for his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Uh…yeah," he manages, voice sounding far hoarser than he thought behind the mask. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Furuya replies bluntly. "Are you sick?"

"Just a bit of a…headache," Miyuki says, pausing when a particularly painful throb flashes across the back of the head. "It's nothing, I just came to get some porridge," he gestures next to him, to which Furuya stares at him blankly.

"…It's not on this aisle," Furuya says slowly, eyes glinting in concern. "Senpai, you should've stayed in your room."

"And starve?" Miyuki scoffs the best he can. "Well I guess I don't really have the appetite but I need something in me before I eat any pills," he pauses. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Furuya looks at all the drink bottles he has in the basket. "They're playing video games in the room. It's noisy."

"So you offered to get them drinks in order to escape," Miyuki chuckles. "You can't hide out forever."

"I went to find you, but you didn't open the door."

Miyuki grins. "Ah…I was probably still sleeping."

Furuya nods, but the stare doesn't drop. "…Why didn't you tell me, Miyuki-senpai?"

"…Tell you what?" Miyuki answers warily.

"That you're sick."

"I'm not," Miyuki replies, frowning. "It's a headache. It'll go away. No big deal."

Furuya looks at him like he doesn't believe him, and Miyuki guesses that he can't blame the other—he feels a lot more terrible than he lets on, he probably looks worse, too. The pitcher stares at him for a moment more before turning his heel to trot towards another aisle.

"Is this one okay?" Furuya asks when he picks off one of the instant porridge bowls and brings it back towards Miyuki.

"Any one is fine," Miyuki answers, taking it from him. "Two more. Just in case. Thanks."

Once paid, Miyuki takes a deep breath to brace himself for the walk back before stepping out of the store. Furuya follows closely behind, carrying his drinks in a bag in one hand, while the other reaches for Miyuki's plastic bag and takes it off him before Miyuki realises what the other is doing.

"That's sweet and all but I'm not handicapped," Miyuki glances over wryly. "Give it back, Toru."

Furuya shakes his head and refuses to listen to the prods Miyuki sends his way—eventually Miyuki gives up and concentrates more on trying not to make his body shiver. It's bloody _cold_ and he's _tired_ and _dizzy_. By the time he makes it back into the confines of his own room, he's too out of it to notice that Furuya had followed him inside until the pitcher is holding him by the elbow when he stumbles against the wall.

"Senpai, you should go lie down," Furuya says, but Miyuki pushes him off lightly.

"I need to eat first," he insists and tries to head towards his desk where his electric kettle sits.

Furuya grips on his arm tighter and all but pushes him towards the bed, where he's forced to sit down.

"I'll do it," the pitcher states.

Miyuki closes his eyes and yanks off the face mask. "Furuya, it's fine," he argues, shrugging off his jacket that has generated too much uncomfortable heat. "Go join the others."

But Furuya stares at him and Miyuki kind of feels it actually borders on a _glare_.

"Lie down," Furuya says quietly. "Please."

Miyuki pauses and sighs very briefly before kicking off his shoes to lie back down, taking off his glasses as well. He can't help the groan of relief the moment his head hits the pillow, vision blurring for a couple of seconds as the fatigue sinks in. His skin feels clammy cold again, and he twists underneath the blanket trying to huddle for the extra warmth. The rumble of boiling water echoes faintly in the background, after several minutes more, Furuya comes back and kneels by the bedside carrying a bowl.

"It's hot," the pitcher warns as Miyuki drags himself to sit up.

Miyuki takes a laboured breath. Hunger pains are digging at his stomach but he doesn't feel any appetite. Nonetheless, he forces himself to reach for the bowl, to which Furuya carefully lets him take it. He glances over to the pitcher—not that he can see very clearly without his spectacles—and gives a wry grin.

"What, do you want to feed me?"

Furuya seems to ignore him and reaches out to feel his forehead instead. Miyuki leans back in reflex from the unexpected action, but Furuya moves to feel him on the cheek and over the neck.

"You have a—"

"I know," Miyuki scowls, pushing the hand away. "I took my temperature earlier."

"You _are_ sick," Furuya states bluntly, and Miyuki closes his eyes.

"I guess," he admits reluctantly. "You shouldn't stay here. You might get it from me."

Furuya shakes his head. "I don't have to be anywhere else."

Miyuki nods towards the plastic bag sitting at the door. "What about your drinks?"

"They're not important."

Miyuki pauses, raised eyebrows slowly coming down. "…I'm not going to die, you know."

" _I know that_ , Miyuki-senpai," Furuya answers a little more forcefully than usual. "You should eat."

It feels like it takes too much effort to argue and Miyuki isn't really sure what they're arguing about anyway, with his head too woozy to think straight. He swallows down a couple spoonfuls of hot porridge, texture easy but taste bland to his tastebuds. It takes a while but he manages at least three-fourths of it before he lets himself put it aside. When he tries to get out of bed after, Furuya holds him down by the shoulders.

"I need to take medicine," Miyuki groans. "Let me move."

"I'll take it."

"Furuya, really, it's—"

"Senpai," Furuya speaks over him, tone flat. "Will you just," the other swallows and stares at him seriously. "Stay here?"

Miyuki knows when to give up, especially against someone like Furuya whose aura is burning darker than ever. He sighs. "It's in the box on the table."

Furuya gets up to retrieve it along with a glass of water, and soon after Miyuki swallows down two capsules. It's not like he's expecting his headache to go away instantly, but he sort of wishes that he feels little better in the least. He rubs his temples trying to ease up the headache but it doesn't help, so he guesses he should just try to sleep it off. Before he slips back down, however, Furuya shuffles up to sit on the bed by his side, and then gently takes hold of his nape and waist, guiding him to lean his head on the other's shoulder.

Miyuki freezes, the close contact a little too intimate too sudden.

"What are you doing," he mumbles as a hand rests over the back of his neck, and then kneads directly into the skin there.

Miyuki groans softly, eyes closing at the sensation.

"My mom does this when my head hurts," Furuya murmurs, voice close to his ear.

His head does hurt. It hurts a lot. Miyuki breathes out shallowly, fingers light on Furuya's hips as Furuya massages the back of his neck, easing up the tight ball of pain somewhere in underneath his skull. His eyes are kept shut, mind drifting easily with the scent of the freshly laundered fabric from Furuya's shirt, as well as the slight fragrance of soap and sweat from Furuya's skin.

Before long, he falls asleep.

* * *

When Miyuki wakes, it's from a phone alarm. The ringtone is unrecognisable, so it's not his, and he gropes around with a groan. His hand comes up a head of soft hair, and he abruptly sits up, eyes blinking rapidly, and then regrets it a split second later when his head spins with full force and he breathes slowly to settle his churning gut. A folded damp towel drops from his forehead. The ringtone still blares loudly, and Miyuki eventually finds the source of it gripped tightly into a palm that is not his. Furuya's head and arms are dead asleep on his bed while the rest of the pitcher's body curls on the floor. The sky has already dimmed dark outside, seeping to early evening.

"Furuya," he murmurs, ruffling the hair. "Toru," he rasps louder, throat too dry from the air.

Furuya stirs, eyes cracking open. The pitcher blinks for a bit before seeming to remember where he is, flicking his phone open to shut the alarm, to which Miyuki sighs in relief.

"Are you feeling better, senpai?"

"A bit," Miyuki answers, though he doesn't really feel that he does.

Furuya stands and carries back two of the same pills he had taken before and a glass of water, and then brings over another cup. Miyuki gulps the water and medicine, though a little confused.

"It's been four hours," Furuya explains.

"What's this?" he asks when the other replaces the glass of water with the other cup containing a warm black liquid.

"Herbal drink. My mom said you should drink it."

Miyuki eyes it sceptically. "…You boiled this?"

"No, it's from a sachet."

That makes Miyuki feel a _little_ better, but still. Furuya keeps looking at him expectantly and Miyuki guesses it can't really hurt—in the worst case scenario, throwing up might actually make his stomach feel less queasy. He sniffs it at first, but his sense of smell is too shot to get a whiff of anything. He takes an experimental sip at first, expecting it to be bitter; but it's actually _sweet_ , like rock sugar, and it's easy on the throat as he swallows it down. The warm liquid settles quietly in his gut as he takes more mouthfuls of it until it's half gone.

"What are you still doing here?" he says when he swallows his last willing mouthful, setting down the mug.

Furuya stares at him blankly. "Taking care of you."

Miyuki stares back. "…Just because we're…dating…doesn't mean you have to—."

Something twitches in Furuya's jaw. "I'm not doing this because of that."

"…Right," Miyuki says slowly when all Furuya does is to stare resolutely at him. "Well, if you get it from me, it'll be troublesome, so you shouldn't stay here. Besides, I need to watch the match we had with—"

"Miyuki-senpai," Furuya interrupts, looming over him, hands suddenly pushing him to lie back down. "Just go to sleep."

"Toru—hey, what are you—"

" _Please_ , go back to sleep," Furuya repeats.

"I don't want to sleep anymore," Miyuki mutters, sour, as he turns on his side to face the other whilst he's forced to stay down.

He's still tired, but there are things he had planned to do today. Furuya ignores him and takes the damp towel that was on his forehead before, folding it into another rectangle before placing it back on his head. Miyuki snorts, one palm pressing on the towel.

He sighs. "Fine, I'll stay down. But you can leave."

"I don't want to."

Stubborn and unyielding even off the mound. Miyuki lets himself rest for a moment as his headache simmers down with his eyes closed.

"…Toru," he mumbles after a while, exhaustion creeping into his tone. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

He can't see Furuya behind closed eyelids, but he does hear Furuya shuffling a little next to him. "…You say it like you're not."

Miyuki scoffs. "You know I'm not."

It takes a while for him to register what he actually says, and almost immediately he opens his mouth to add on to that—but he doesn't really know what he intends to make it into; a quip, a joke, a confession, _what_? But it's plain obvious that he isn't, isn't it; he's not like Furuya who is so honest and pure and _good_ in ways that he can never be.

"I don't think so."

"That's because you're weird," Miyuki says easily.

"So are you, Miyuki-senpai," Furuya retorts, voice calm.

Miyuki chuckles softly. "I'm not the one wasting a day taking care of someone who doesn't need it."

"Isn't it normal," Furuya says instead after a while. "To worry about someone you care about."

Again, true, _but_. But it's not like _Miyuki's_ the person people care about, often—if at all. For the first time in this conversation he cracks open his eyes and finds Furuya watching him quietly, blue eyes intense and resolute. Miyuki knows what Furuya _means_ by that simple sentence; Furuya always says very little, but means a whole lot underneath those sparse words.

Miyuki rubs at his eyes because he doesn't know how to really react. "…You should stop saying stuff like that so easily."

But Furuya reaches for his hand, slipping their fingers together gently. Miyuki isn't sure if this is the fever or the headache but his chest tightens and his head spins, all while it feels like his neck is slowly setting on fire.

"It's not easy," Furuya says quietly, and Miyuki's heartbeat _thuds_ just a bit louder.

Miyuki closes his eyes again, finding it easier to breathe when he doesn't have Furuya seeing through him despite all the layers he's carefully sewn over the years. Furuya's hand is warm over his own clammy one. He doesn't plan to fall asleep again, but with the quiet breathing between them, comforting warmth over his palms and the dose of the medicine he had swallowed, it's hard not to.

* * *

" _Furuya."_

" _Furuya!"_

Miyuki stirs when he hears someone hissing in the vague air above him, groaning silently when the voice increases in volume.

" _Furuya, you log, wake up!_ "

Miyuki shifts, palming his eyes and sitting up slowly. His room is bright.

"…Mochi?" he calls out, voice a little hoarse but definitely better than before. "What are you doing?"

Kuramochi, who has one hand upon Furuya's shoulder whose head is flat down on the edge of Miyuki's bed, tilts his head at him with the other hand resting casually on his hip. "Miyuki? You're awake?"

"Yeah, you're so noisy," Miyuki mutters, groping for his glasses.

"Well, you look like shit," Kuramochi replies.

"It's still an improvement from you."

Kuramochi sighs, squatting down eventually so that they're on eye level. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had better days," Miyuki admits, hand skimming through his hair absentmindedly.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you're sick, idiot?"

"I'm not—" Miyuki begins, but at the narrowed pointed look Kuramochi glares at him, he sighs. "It's not a terminal illness."

"That's not the point," Kuramochi retorts. "Whatever," he says eventually. "You _should_ be able to figure that out. Anyway, I came in to get Furuya," he explains. "It's a good thing Sawamura and the little Kominato asked me if I've seen him after he dropped off drinks for us in the afternoon—it's nearly lights out. Your roomies will be back soon. He needs to go."

Miyuki suppresses the reflex to look at his phone for the time, instead, he glances at the tuft of black hair at his fingertips.

"I'll wake him," Miyuki promises.

Kuramochi nods and stands up, but before he turns away fully, he jabs a finger in Miyuki's direction. "You owe me twice now, asshole."

Miyuki smirks. "What kind of _favours_ are you thinking of calling in, Mochi?"

"Nothing that _you're_ thinking of, you sick pervert," Kuramochi retorts with his back towards Miyuki, giving him a back wave. "You know," he pauses by the door, just before closing it, "He's a good kid, Miyuki."

Miyuki looks up to meet Kuramochi's hard gaze before the door fully closes, and the edges of Miyuki's lips twitch.

"I know," he murmurs as he threads his fingers deep into Furuya's hair.

Furuya doesn't stir with the soft ruffling that he does, and eventually he ends up petting Furuya's sleeping head gently whilst staring at the ceiling. At the back of Miyuki's mind he wonders _what time is it_ and also _has Furuya eaten dinner_ and the ever looming possibility that his room door is going to open and his roommates will find their first year pitcher slumped on the edge of his bed but instead, Miyuki hums quietly and savours the soft shiny strands under his palm.

He can blame this on his fever tomorrow.

Just.

A while longer.

* * *

 _-come on and rescue me-_

* * *

 _ **Fin.**_


End file.
